


A Sith and Her Scars

by Khaleesi_of_Assassins



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Andronikos is dead in this, F/M, Redeemed Dark Side Inquisitor, Romance, maybe smut later?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9082378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaleesi_of_Assassins/pseuds/Khaleesi_of_Assassins
Summary: After Thexan's death, Arcann believed he would be alone. When the Commander of the Alliance allows him to join her fight, Arcann learns just how wrong he was.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This starts after KotET Chapter 6 (The Dragon's Maw) and will continue past the end of the game. These will be mostly short stories with these two, and if I do any smut that chapter will be marked (even though I'm as virgin as virgin can be, I'll try).  
> I know I ship my Inquisitor with too many people. I also know Arcann needs more love.

The Alliance base seemed to be silent as Arcann moved through it, towards the Force enclave set up in the west wing. Such had been his ritual on those nights when he couldn’t sleep, when visions of fire and screams and all manner of past horrors came rushing back to him. The nightmares were his constant reminder, he supposed. 

So many times had he seen the lives he took, the planets he decimated and each vision left a storm of guilt battering against him. He had learned on those nights that trying to return to sleep would not chase the dreams away, so he had been spending his nights in the enclave. It was normally abandoned in the dead hours of the night when Arcann would visit.

Tonight, it seemed, he would not be alone.

Arcann felt Zannateah’s signature in the Force just before he rounded the corner, making him slow his pace. When he reached the door he saw her kneeling in front of the statue at the far end of the room.

The silence of the base was broken in that room, the trickling of the water pools next to the Commander accompanied by the faint sound of her breathing created a soft chant that filled the air. The serenity of the scene baffled Arcann, considering the unrelenting nature of the woman at its center. It reminded him just how little he really knew of her.

He wanted to change that.

As silently as he could, Arcann made his way towards the blonde woman who had saved his life. Each step he took seemed to paint a clearer picture of her. She wasn’t wearing her armor, just trousers and a thin shirt. What was truly of interest to him, however, was the intertwining network of scars that covered the skin on her right shoulder.

His gaze lingered there for a moment before her voice stole his focus. “Arcann,” she sounded surprised, and the look in her eyes affirmed that. 

“Forgive me, I did not mean to-”

The Sith stood, shaking her head. “It’s alright. I wasn’t expecting anyone here tonight.” The surprise in her eyes was replaced by curiosity. “You couldn’t sleep, could you?” It didn't surprise Arcann that she could guess that. She of all people could probably understand not being able to sleep.

He shook his head. “No.” He didn't want - or feel the need - to explain further, so he promptly changed the subject. “What is it you’re here for?”

By her knowing smirk, Arcann knew that the Commander was not fooled by his evasion. Still, she seemed to allow it, pivoting a bit to glance down at the ground and the a glowing violet relic that rested there. “Talos found several holocrons on Yavin 4 and brought them here to study. Most of them were easy to access, but this one's been giving me problems.”

Arcann half-smiled at her eagerness. If she were this excited about one artifact, he could only imagine what she had be like as the Head of the Imperial Reclamation Service. 

The Sith knelt down once again, and Arcann followed suit. He watched her eyes narrow as she examined the holocron, her brow furrowing in frustration. “Admittedly, it has been some time since I’ve had to deal with something like this.” 

“You must have seen a thousand holocrons in your lifetime.” Arcann mused, his eyes moving to Zannateah. 

She laughed a bit. “If only. I’ve seen many, though. More than most, I’m sure, but not thousands.”

“They hold knowledge, do they not?”

“Yes,” she finally removed her gaze from the object, turning it to Arcann. “They’re how Jedi and Sith passed down their techniques and teachings, so some are incredibly well-guarded.” There was a bit of venom in her voice, directed at the particularly troublesome relic in front of them. “The first one I ever saw, Sith had been trying to unlock for centuries.” 

“But that didn’t stop you.” Arcann didn’t need to ask, and Zannateah’s smile answered for her.

“That was one of my first trials.” Zannateah reached for the holocron, taking it in her hand and standing. “They gave it to me because they wanted to see me fail.” She walked it to one of the shelves that housed the enclave’s other artifacts. All the while Arcann watched her; her walk like that of a beautiful predator, the strength she used to somehow keep the weight of the galaxy from crushing her.

And again his eyes were drawn to the scar on her shoulder blade, her hair falling mostly to the front so he could truly look at it. 

He knew burn scars well enough to identify one, but this was not the result of a random fire or explosion. 

Perhaps it was his curiosity getting the better of him. Perhaps it was the fact that he had not felt a true sleep since he fled Voss, and it had lessened some of his vocal restraints. Either way, Arcann didn’t think too hard about his next action and raised his voice. “Your scar. Where did you get it?” He regretted the words as he watched Zannateah freeze. 

Shit. 

The air became tense, and Arcann could feel the powerful emotions radiating off of the blonde Sith. Fear, anger, surprise, and a bit of sorrow seeped through the Force as she turned to face him. 

He searched for the right words, but she spoke first, seeing his guilty expression. “It’s alright, Arcann.” She reassured him, regaining some of her composure. “How much do you know of who I was before all this? Before I was a Sith, even?” her words were slowly returning to their normal tone, though a shadow of resentment lingered.

“You were a slave,” Arcann began carefully, “weren’t you?” 

Zannateah nodded solemnly. “Yes. And slave masters don’t like to lose their property.”

Arcann’s brow furrowed, knowing what she meant. He knew what it was to feel as though he was owned by someone, to feel powerless against the will of another. For so many years his own scars had felt like a brand, marking him as an expendable weapon to be wielded by his father, though his were received in battle. He could only imagine what it was like for her to be marked by someone, proclaiming to all that she was less than a sentient being.

“I'm sorry,” was all he could think to say.

She shook her head, stepping closer to him. “Don't be. My scars are nothing,” she trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. 

Again, he spoke more hastily than he would’ve liked. “They’re not nothing.” Zannateah’s blue gaze found his again, confusion written all over her expression. “They’re not a mark of ownership, either. Not anymore.”

A slight smile graced her face. “Like proof that I survived, then?”

Arcann smiled a bit in return. “Yes.”

Zannateah examined him for a long moment, no doubt wondering if he believed the same about his own scars.

He had tried to believe it, truly he had. Those first days when he had removed his mask had been near torturous on the front of trying to convince himself of that thought. He supposed it might have been a bit hypocritical to be preaching to the Commander about her own scars being marks of strength while he himself did not fully believe it. 

“Scars of survival, then.” She nodded, a small but true smile curving at her lips. Still, he could hear the doubt in her voice that even she, a former Sith inquisitor and master of spinning lies couldn’t hide. 

He supposed they both had common ground there.


End file.
